


The Wolf's Wager

by osunism



Series: Get Us There [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Outdoor Sex, Prompt Fic, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson hates that red cloak Hadiza’s been wearing. Hates that an Orlesian noble sought to buy her favor and affection with such a frivolous and impractical piece of clothing. So he and Hadiza go riding in the forest, and the Wolf springs a trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf's Wager

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from Tumblr user digital-goddess. This one’s for you, babe. <3

She’d been prancing around in the damned thing all day.

Red wasn’t even her favorite fucking color, but here she was, petting the soft, velvety cloak every so often. It was a deep and rich shade, almost burgundy, like spilled blood on the snow. It had arrived by way of fanfare and frippery, a package wrapped in expensive paper and tied off with gold ribbons. He knew it could only have been from that…that idiot Orlesian fop, Jacmel de Valois. He watched as Hadiza’s eyes lit up, and decided right then and there that she didn’t want him to associate the memory of that noble attempting to court her with the decadent cloak she now wore. So he approached her, asking if she’d join him for a day ride through the mountains.

Of course she agreed, and Samson gave her a wolfish grin as they set out. She didn’t ride the damned dracolisk, and instead took her Friesian, Nyx, which made the cloak even more vivid, the deep rich red flowing over the gleaming black of the horse’s backside. She was dressed pretty, in her riding skirts with that mass of hair piled on her head.

He wanted her, badly, but he had to bide his time.

Eventually, they’d made their way into the surrounding hills at the base of the mountains, and Samson had deliberately chosen a route that would take them just past the Orlesian border. The forest was sparse, but the path well trod enough that it was easy to navigate. They talked of course, teasing one another, and he contented himself to listen to her. She was excited about some new shipment of drakestone, and he wondered just what she planned to blow up with it, before they reined to a halt to rest their mounts.

“You know,” she said as he passed her the shared waterskin, “if I’d known we’d be riding out this far I would have taken Argo.” Samson bared his teeth, rolling his eyes.

“Maker take that creature. Foul-tempered and hideous.” He said, but there was warmth in his smile, and tenderness to his teasing as Hadiza stuck her tongue out.

“If you hadn’t goaded him he wouldn’t have bit you. It’s okay, Nyx is my second fastest mount.” She recorked the waterskin and handed it back to him. Samson decided on an idea.

“That so, princess? You care to test that?” His grin was wicked, salacious, and shameless. Hadiza tossed her head and Maker help him there something about the way a few stray curls of her hair escaped to slither along the side of her face and neck made his blood hot. She turned, placing one foot in the stirrup before gracefully swinging her leg around to fully mount.

“What are the stakes?” She asked as he mounted his own horse, a swift but powerful thoroughbred the color of ash.

“Don’t let me catch you,” he said ominously and he swore he saw a shiver run through her, but that could have been his imagination. When he saw her throat work in a deep swallow, he knew it wasn’t.

“Alright, and where shall we stop?” She asked. Samson squeezed his mounts sides between powerful thighs.

“Don’t let me **catch you** , princess.” He said again and his tone dropped in pitch, a dark promise of the unknown, and this time Hadiza _did_ shiver. Regaining her composure, she dug her heels down and kicked. Nyx took off at a steady canter, and Samson was soon after her. She had the hood of her cloak up, and against the autumn painting of the forest, the vivid red was as rich and vibrant as blood splatter against marble walls. Samson followed that red like a beacon as her Friesian evolved into a full gallop, turning off the path.

She was right, of course, in that her mount was swift and it cut a fine figure when she wanted to look ominous and authoritative, but Samson was a seasoned warrior, and had more skill fighting on horseback than most would credit him with. This meant, he knew how to maneuver his mount in tight turns, knew how to cut a path through the bramble and undergrowth of a forest, and knew that Hadiza was mulling over his words, a silent mantra, wondering what would happen if the Wolf of Skyhold closed in on the red rider. He cut through the forest like a shadow, clad in all black and charcoal gray, moving with all the surety of one who was born to it.

A flash of red, and a blur of black put Hadiza directly in his sights. She wasn’t looking back, too focused on losing him to see if he still thundered behind her. He grinned into the wind, veering off to stay in her blind spot. He wouldn’t taunt her, not yet. Not until the Wolf’s jaws closed around her pretty throat to claim his prize.

Hadiza was no green rider either, and while she loved to trot about and show off, she knew when to dig in, knew how to guide her horse with those sleek thighs so that both mount and rider moved as one. Nyx huffed and snorted, but the powerful animal was nowhere near flagging. She loosened the reins, giving him his head, allowing the full frame of the horse to stretch.

 _Don’t let me catch you_.

The words thrummed in her head, sang in her veins, and clogged her lungs as she controlled her breathing. Then, up ahead, she saw him.

            Hadiza reacted quickly, bringing Nyx up short so hard that the horse reared, slid, and whined in protest against the bit in its mouth. They halted and Hadiza’s eyes narrowed. This was Samson’s horse, but with no rider. Nyx snorted, breathing hard beneath her, and she carefully dismounted, patting Nyx on his sweaty neck, soothing the Friesian while she was ever aware that she was being watched.

            When she heard the whisper of steel against the fine material of her cloak, she froze. The sword took the cowl back and the flat of the blade pressed gently against her cheek. Hadiza sucked in a steady breath through flared nostrils. Quickly, the sword was gone and a strong arm caught her about the waist. She felt the prickle from his stubble rub against her neck and cheek.

            “I _told_ you not to let me catch you, princess…” his voice rolled over her senses, inspiring a sensation in her that turned her knees to water and made her stomach feel as if she were in constant freefall. Hadiza shuddered and turned to face him. Samson was a wolfish man, hence his moniker, but the way he looked at her then, as if his eyes were blades to cut away the clothing that obscured her, made her weak. She trembled, not from fear, but anticipation.

            “So now you’ve claimed your prize,” she murmured, “what now will you do?” Samson’s smile was as slow to burn as the rising heat pooling in her belly. He tilted his head, brought his hand up to catch a fold of the red cloak between his fingers, rubbing it.

            “I’ve not claimed my prize yet, princess,” he purred, “but trust me, you’ll know when I have.”

            And then he kissed her.

            The kiss was not the claim he was making, she realized, but it was no less intense for an opening act. He held her to him and kissed her, kissed her until her lips were love-swollen and beestung, until her breath came out in desperate pants, until her body ached in all the delicious and hidden parts she wanted him to touch. She leaned into his touch, arched into him with alacrity, twining her arms about his neck as his hands caressed the shape of her body.

            “So eager to be claimed, Inquisitor?” He asked with a laugh, but didn’t let her answer because this was not her time to speak, only to yield. Hadiza yielded, and she did so with consummate grace, allowing him to pluck at the buttons of her riding jacket, to peel away the layers of her clothing until her skin began to appear, lush and dark beneath. The cloak, he allowed to stay, instructing her to spread it on the ground. She did so, and he undress slowly, relishing the cool air on his skin which burned both from the lyrium in his blood and the need to make contact.

            The red cloak was spread about her like a spill of blood, and she was all of the things he loved in her: indolent, sensual, a darkling woman with eyes the color of a blizzard. When he came to her, it was not as a man humbled by her beauty and grace, but a man starved and wanting her to be his and his alone.

            He descended on her without preamble, the silence of the forest cut to pieces by their sharp panting, heavy pulls of breath; it was split open by Hadiza’s desperate moan as Samson lowered his head to her breast, then cracked apart by her scream as he bit down, leaving a deep, bruising imprint of his teeth on the curve. The silence was kept at bay by the continuous alternation of moan and choked cry as the Wolf of Skyhold marked the Inquisitor with his teeth, leaving the imprint of his claim to her on satin flesh. Then he soothed the hurt with his tongue, teasing the dusky buds of her nipples by laving them, and then leaving them to stiffen in the cool autumn air. By the time he was finished Hadiza’s eyes were wide, the pupils swallowing the gray, lips parted as she shivered out a desperate plea.

            Samson had promised she would know when he claimed her, and he showed her.

            When he stroked his length it was slow and he watched her part for him, watched the slow and eager spread of those long legs, revealing the slick and dripping prize between them. He wanted to claim more than her body. He wanted her ravaged to the marrow, to know in the deepest parts of herself that she was his.

            “You’re so pretty like this, princess,” he teased his fingertips along the backs of her thighs, coaxing her to lift her legs. When she did, the shape of her cunt was pleasing and inviting, and then he fit himself between her legs, freeing his cock from his hand to let the tip brush against her folds. She quivered, her lips moving to shape a plea, but he ignored it, pushing her legs back and over his strong shoulders and sliding deep and slow into her at the same time.

            The silence burst as Hadiza groaned in time to his initial entry, fingers clutching desperately at the cloak beneath her. Dried leaves crumpled beneath their bodies as Samson sank until he felt himself hilted. He’d bent her in half, but she was nimble enough for such a position. It allowed him to stroke the deepest parts of her, and her saturated walls fluttered in anticipation.

            Hadiza’s breathing was labored; sucking in high-pitched gasps as Samson slowly adjusted his hips, letting him feel just how much he stretched her, pulling his hips back shallowly to let his now-slick cock tug at her inner lips in a sensual slide that inspired additional pleasure to flutter in her belly.

            “I know who gave you this cloak, princess,” his voice was eerily calm as he stroked in and out of her, listening to her soft wails and gasps, “and I should probably thank the bastard for providing it for this purpose, don’t you agree?”

            Hadiza wailed louder when he pulled back, only to snap his hips forward, the slap of contact echoing in the expanse of the forest.

            “Mmm,” Samson purred, “I thought so.”

            He didn’t allow her thoughts to collect, didn’t allow her time to realize the storm he brought with him. There were only the moments between his thrusts, the slap of his hips against hers, the erotic and wet sucking sound of him pistoning in and out of her. Harder, faster, and **deeper**. Hadiza couldn’t keep her thoughts, so she let Samson scatter them like the fallen leaves that crunched beneath their bodies, and let him draw her focus to his voice as he fucked her. The stillness of the forest, and its tranquil silence was strangely at odds with the heated coupling going on beneath the Orlesian sky.

            Samson took pleasure in the fact that he was marking her, and using this gift that was a sign of some idiot’s courtship, in such a way. She’d not remember the fool’s name when he was through, because right now it was his name she sang in choked off cries and broken sobs as he worked to stoke a flame only he could coax within her.

            Hadiza’s head thrashed this way and that, writhing from her folded position, the earth beneath her as obdurate and obstinate as the mountains, allowing her to feel every drive of Samson’s thrust, the impact full and unimpeded by cushioning support. It jarred her, like a falling dream when one feels themselves returning to the skin and bone of the body, only to be drawn out anew each time he withdrew from her.

            His body was so strong, so solid, hard beneath the softness of her upended legs, and his cock was a hot and throbbing length within the slickness of her sex, stroking the deep parts of her no man could touch.

            All the while the forest remained unchanged around them, yet in her mind, it was changing. She would always attribute this place to this memory, to the sound of flesh on flesh, heavy pants, to the rawness of her throat as she let out ululating cries, wailing as her pleasure and desire gathered in a surge, unstoppable and utterly welcomed by the wolfish man above her.

            Samson did not slow, did not stop, and did not relent. He had stamina enough to thoroughly exhaust her if he chose, but that was not his aim.

            The first time she came, she clenched hard, her wails rising in pitch, and Samson grinned hard and thrust deep, growling out his satisfaction when her walls fluttered around him, spilling her liquid heat along the length of him. He could feel her, and he wanted nothing more than to claim her once more.

            When he turned her on her belly, bringing her up on all fours, she gasped.

            “ _Oh_!” She cried as he entered her once more. This allowed him more force than he had on top of her, grabbing both her arms in an iron grip to use as leverage. Her moan was a continuous line, overlaid with choked gasps, desperate inhales, and sobbing, he kept her knees and thighs closed, tightening her cunt around his thrusting length, grinning as she shuddered, broken thoroughly, coming again.

            Only when her shudders died to ripples in her body, did he allow himself to take her—truly take her—releasing her to turn her over. It was startlingly intimate, having her legs quaking as they attempted to close around him, with him surging forward.

            “Move for me, princess,” he whispered and she did. She moved for him as he did for her and somehow she knew. She knew this was the moment where the Wolf would claim his prize. But it didn’t feel like a claim at all. It felt like affirmation, like a homecoming, like a much-needed moment to suspend in time, that one might look back and relish later.

            When she felt the first signs of his impending climax she clung to him tightly, and he let her, burying his face in her neck, his mouth open and wet, licking at the soft skin, tasting her sweat, and groaning as he came, deep, trapped between her thighs. He felt some of it leak out, knew that it dripped down to the red cloak beneath them, now twisted and crumpled from their movements.

            When the hazy moment post-climax past, and everything drew back within, they lay there, panting, Samson’s lips still at her throat. She smiled, staring up at the sky where the light was fast fading.

            “Samson…” she murmured, stroking his hair, and he mumbled out a response against her neck, making her grin at the tickling sensation as his voice vibrated along her skin.

            “Was this really all because a man gifted me with a cloak?”


End file.
